1 • Unlucky Snow.
Everything was white, that day.
It was a frigid February morning, the kind where the air bites and silence stretches long. As Rui stepped outside, his mother's drunken snores trailed faintly behind him, muffled by the heavy door he closed with care.
The alleys lay quiet, their edges softened by snow, whitewashed and still.
Each step left prints in the slumbering frost, his boots pressing dark pockmarks into its pristine skin.
The snow fell lazily, mingling with a wetter, almost liquid cousin—white and delicate, yet too soft to be pure. It clung to the earth like a weary cloud come to rest.
His breath hung in pale wisps, fading into the icy ether, his hands clad in frayed, fingerless gloves that offered little solace. He rubbed them together, the friction doing little to chase away the cold, and tugged his coat collar tighter beneath his chin, as though defiance alone could ward off the chill.
He fucking hated the cold.
He couldn't help but notice the way their gazes linger, especially the Alphas. Quick, furtive glances that slid across him like whispered confessions, as though drawn by some unseen force.
His delicate features—fine and ethereal—seemed to catch the light in ways that made it impossible to look away. The soft curve of his rosy cheeks, the way white curls framed his pale forehead like frost kissed by dawn.
Even the quiet slope of his thin shoulders seemed crafted with intention, as though sculpted to invite attention, to beckon Alphas closer with a silent allure.
It was a curse wrapped in beauty, a magnetism he neither sought nor embraced, but one that clung to him nonetheless—an unspoken promise that lingered in every stolen glance.
He fucking hated Alphas.
He arrived at school, the gates shining like gold under the sun, even if they where just make of metal. The air seemed sharper, hotter, almost electric with tension.
It clung to his skin like a second layer, heavy and stifling, carrying the unmistakable hum of too many hearts beating too close together.
The faint tang of pheromones lingered in every breath, weaving through the hallways in an invisible current, pressing against him from all sides.
It made something in his chest clench, a tight, restless ache that he couldn't name. The atmosphere was alive with presence—Alpha, Beta, Omega—all mingling, colliding, overwhelming.
Each subtle trace of scent carried intent, unconscious or deliberate, and it seeped into the space like smoke, making the very air tremble with unspoken dynamics.
He swallowed hard, drawing his coat tighter around himself as though it could shield him from the way it all seemed to seep into his lungs, into his blood, into him.
When Rui arrived at the classroom—the one mentioned in the curt, impersonal email—he didn't pause to knock. The door swung open with a sharp creak, the cold from the corridors trailing behind him like a ghost.
Inside, the warmth hit him immediately, thick and golden, the kind of heat that settled into the skin and made the edges of the world blur.
His eyes caught on the scene before him, vivid and delicate, like a painting frozen in time. The teacher, an old Omega with hair as white as frost under morning light, was leaning down, her scent warm and sweet, like spiced milk on a winter evening.
Her touch was soft, fingers trailing tenderly along the cheek of a boy seated near the window, the light catching on him like he was carved from something too perfect to be real.
Rentai Atsura.
Rui didn't know him, not really, but in that moment, his presence was undeniable. His dark hair fell in soft, unruly strands against skin that seemed almost translucent, kissed by the faintest hint of warmth.
The way he tilted his face toward the teacher's hand was unguarded, vulnerable, as if her words carried a secret only for him. Outside the window, the snow fell lazily, its cold whisper stark against the intimacy of the room's golden glow.
He looked unyielding, as if he was letting the teacher touch him out of kindness in his heart, more than anything.
Still, there was a sparkling sheet above his obsidian eyes, thick and plastered with a quiet respect and calm attitude.
Rui's breath hitched, the intrusion he hadn't thought twice about now a weight in his chest. The air seemed to hum, sharper now, electric, carrying the faint thread of Ren's scent—something unplaceable yet distinct, pulling at him like gravity.
The Omega teacher turned, startled, her hand dropping away, but Ren's gaze didn't follow. It lingered on the window, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of the storm Rui had just brought into the room.
Rui took a step back, the weight of the room pressing against his chest like an unspoken rebuke. The golden warmth inside felt stifling now, the soft edges of the scene turning sharp in his mind.
His fingers brushed the cold doorframe, as if reaching for the icy halls outside, a retreat into the familiar numbness of solitude. But before he could slip away, a voice stopped him, low and sweet, laced with something like amusement.
"Leaving so soon?" the old Omega asked, her words curling through the air like smoke from a candle just blown out.
Rui froze, caught between flight and shame. He turned just enough to catch the faint curve of her lips, a knowing smile that teased without cruelty.
Her pale fingers, still scented faintly of lavender and sugar, rested against the desk, and her eyes sparkled with quiet mischief, as though she could see every thought unraveling in his mind.
"You misunderstood," she continued, her tone light, as if the weight in Rui's chest were nothing but a feather to be brushed aside. "I was simply comforted by him."
Her words twisted the air around them, softening it, but Rui's throat tightened. His gaze flickered to Ren, who remained still, his dark eyes now resting on Rui with quiet curiosity.
The room felt warmer than before, unbearably close, the faint hum of pheromones rising like a tide around him. The teacher's laughter, soft and musical, brushed against him like wind through bare branches, and Rui could feel the flush creeping up his neck, a heat that had nothing to do with the golden glow of the room.
Rui froze for a beat, the tension curling in his chest like a spring wound too tight.
The teacher's light, teasing tone brushed against his nerves like sandpaper, and something flared hot inside him—a flicker of anger, sharp and raw, ignited by the closeness of the room, by her knowing gaze, by the boy who still hadn't looked away.
"Yeah, as fuck," Rui snapped, the words spilling out, harsh and jagged, slicing through the quiet like glass against stone. He stepped fully into the room, the door clicking shut behind him, the sound final, deliberate.
His boots left faint wet prints on the polished floor, and the warmth of the room now felt suffocating, clinging to him like a weight he couldn't shake.
The teacher, unbothered, let her knowing smile linger, folding her hands neatly as though Rui's temper was a passing breeze. She tilted her head slightly, her soft, pale hair catching the golden light.
"Good," she said, her voice steady, sweet with amusement. "Then you'll stay."
Rui blinked, caught off-guard by the unexpected calm in her words. Before he could spit out another retort, she continued, her tone shifting, sharpening just enough to anchor him.
"You are struggling, aren't you?; I'll make sure you pass the year," she said, each word deliberate, pointed, meant to slice through his defenses. Her gaze didn't falter, and the weight of her words pressed into the room like a challenge. "But only if you stay."
The air seemed to hum, charged with an intensity that wrapped itself around Rui, pulling tight. His jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides as if itching for something to break. Ren shifted slightly, his dark eyes glancing between them, calm and silent, a spectator to a battle Rui hadn't meant to start.
The teacher's smile softened, but her gaze remained unyielding, pinning him to the moment. Rui's chest burned, not with embarrassment, but with something deeper, a heat he couldn't name. For a second, he thought about walking out, slamming the door behind him and leaving her words to melt into the suffocating warmth.
But he didn't. His feet stayed planted, his hands curling into fists at his sides, the anger simmering just beneath his skin.
He needed to pass the year.
Rui's jaw tightened, his shoulders taut with tension as he threw the teacher a sharp glare. The warmth of the room prickled at his skin, the weight of the strange moment suffocating. He crossed his arms, the air thick with his irritation as he bit out, "What's the catch? Are you some kind of pervert who likes to watch?"
The words hung in the air, jagged and cutting, daring her to react. The teacher's smile didn't falter, though; it merely shifted, softening into something more measured. She clasped her hands together, her delicate fingers tapping lightly against her wrist as if she were considering her words.
"Rui," she said gently, her voice firm enough to cut through his anger without raising itself. "Do you think I've been teaching this long without learning to handle fiery tempers like yours?" Her gaze didn't waver as she continued, her tone now sharpened with purpose.
"I've been pairing students together for years—children with difficult relationships to their dynamics, like you, with older ones who have control and stability in their nature. It's a necessity for our society to grow. The school doesn't just allow it, Rui. It demands it."
Rui's brows furrowed, his hands clenching into fists as her words settled in. The air seemed to grow hotter, heavier, as she stepped closer, her presence calm but unyielding.
"You think this is a game?" she asked softly, her gaze piercing. "It's not. It's survival. If we can't teach you how to navigate who you are, how to exist within your dynamic, then you'll never stand a chance out there. You'll burn yourself out before you've even started."
Her eyes flickered toward Ren, who remained silent, watching them with an unreadable expression. She gestured toward him with a graceful hand.
"Ren will be your partner. He's already agreed." She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable now, her words cutting like the sharpest edge of a winter breeze. "You might not like it, Rui. But you'll stay, and you'll learn. Or you'll fail. It's that simple."
Rui stared at her, his chest heaving as frustration and confusion warred inside him. His gaze snapped toward Ren, who finally met his eyes, his expression calm but distant, like he was weighing Rui's reaction against something unknown.
The teacher's voice broke the silence once more, soft but unyielding. "This isn't about what you want, Rui. It's about what you need. School will demand progress, and you'll need to document your mentorship meetings."